


consorting with the enemy

by imagines



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, yuri does not friends well, yuri has all the walls up, yuri/motorbike OTP tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 04:50:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9305036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagines/pseuds/imagines
Summary: “You really make it hard for anyone to get close to you, don’t you?” a.k.a. the one where they accidentally hang out for twelve hours straight and it's a Problem. Set after ep 10.





	

“I think it’s sweet,” Otabek says. They’d meant to part ways upon returning to the hotel from dinner with everyone, but instead they’ve gotten caught up in discussing the competition so far, looking up videos online of important moments. Yuri has just accidentally opened one showing Victor and Katsuki’s… _display_ …at the Cup of China.

“ _Ugh_ ,” Yuri says, with great passion.

“Really, I hope one day I feel like that about someone.”

 Yuri wrinkles his nose. “I hope I _never_ do. It turns people into idiots.”

“It does, doesn’t it.” Otabek smiles.

“Don’t say that like it’s a _good_ thing,” Yuri growls. “It’s gross. It _ruins lives_.”

“If you ask me, Victor’s life looks anything but ruined.”

Yuri grabs Otabek’s shoulders and shakes him. “He has stopped caring about winning! He’s not the same!”

“No, he’s stopped caring about winning _competitions_. Change isn’t always bad, Yuri. Maybe five world championships was enough for him.”

“So I’ll win _six_. Then he’ll wish he’d—”

“Then,” Otabek interrupts gently, “he’ll be very proud of you.”

“Hmph.” Yuri lets go of Otabek and turns away. “I don’t need his approval.”

Otabek sighs. “You really make it hard for anyone to get close to you, don’t you?”

“I don’t like to make friends with the competition.”

“Lucky for me, I don’t think I’m anywhere near being competition for you.”

Yuri considers this. “ _That’s_ true,” he tosses over his shoulder.

“Wow, thanks a lot,” says Otabek, grinning.

“So.” Yuri scuffs at the ground with the toe of his shoe, still keeping his back to Otabek. “Did you want to hang out tonight or something?”

“Sure. What’d you have in mind?”

Yuri hasn’t thought that far ahead. Shit. “Ah—”

“Or,” Otabek says, “I have a suggestion, if you like?”

“Yes,” Yuri says, nodding hard.

“Motorbike trip. I know somewhere cool.”

Yuri barely lets him finish, turning to face him. “I’m in!”

“Let me just run up and get my jacket,” Otabek says, and disappears into the hotel.

Yuri shifts from foot to foot. So he’s going for another ride, arms wrapped tight around Otabek’s torso, face pressed into the back of Otabek’s jacket. He swallows, thinking of smooth black leather and powerful muscles. There’s no harm in just _thinking_.

Soon Otabek returns, his leather jacket fitting like a second skin. He swings a leg over the bike and pats the seat behind him. “Well, come on.”

Yuri climbes on and they speed away, winding through alleys and side streets, Barcelona a whirl of twilight color all around them, til the smell of saltwater surrounds them. Otabek turns the motorbike onto little more than a dirt footpath, slowing down to curve through a brief maze of rocky walls. And then there’s the Mediterranean ahead of them, stretching out forever.

Otabek kills the motor. “It’s no good trying to swim in it right now; you’d freeze. But it’s beautiful and nobody seems to come here much. Too rocky. So it’s all yours.”

Twilight covers the sea, turning it purple, and Yuri walks slowly down to the water to stand just out of reach of the little waves. The scrap of land here is littered with jagged stones and can barely be called a beach, but this body of water connects to the Black Sea, and so it connects to home. He bends down and trails his fingers through the cold water rolling onto the beach. _Hello, Rossiya._

After a few minutes, he glances over his shoulder to find Otabek watching him silently from some yards back. “What’s so interesting?” Yuri demands to know.

“Just trying to figure out what you’re thinking.”

“So ask me, dumbass.”

Otabek rolls his eyes. “Because you’re a paragon of approachability.”

“Oh, shut up,” Yuri grumbles. “As if I could ever scare _you_.”

“No, you don’t scare me a bit. I just don’t want to cross any lines.”

It’s true that Yuri has a _lot_ of lines. He needs a great deal of personal space and he isn’t really the share-your-feelings type. So, yeah, it’s unnerving to be slowly realizing that he doesn’t mind Otabek getting inside those lines.

Otabek ambles down to the water to stand beside Yuri, hands jammed in his jacket pockets. “So what _are_ you thinking?” He’s looking out over the sea too, not at Yuri.

“Just—” Yuri tells him about the link to Russia via the water. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid. I like it.”

“Maybe you just like stupid shit.”

“Well, you’re not stupid. And I like _you_.” Otabek still isn’t looking at him, despite the glances Yuri keeps sneaking.

A breeze kicks up, damp and chilly, and Yuri shivers.

This, Otabek notices. “Oh, you didn’t bring a coat! Hang on—” He lopes back to the bike and rummages in a bag strapped to the side. “Here!” he says upon returning, shoving blue and gold fabric into Yuri’s hands.

There’s a tiny golden sun and eagle embroidered on the front, and “Қазақстан” in gold letters on the back. “I can’t take this!” Yuri exclaims. “It’s your team jacket!”

“Huh, I hadn’t noticed,” Otabek says, rolling his eyes again. “You’re shaking all over, so put it on or _I_ will put it on you. Russia’s top skater can’t die of cold on my watch.”

Muttering, Yuri shoves his arms into the sleeves and zips up the jacket. Instantly he feels better, the worst of the wind kept at bay.

“Traditionally, this is when my people would say ‘thank you,’ ” Otabek says.

“Oh my god. You’re insufferable. But thanks.”

Otabek squints at Yuri. “Insufferable… yet here you are anyway. Weird.”

“Whatever. Just don’t take any pictures of me in this thing. Russia’s top skater can’t be seen consorting with the enemy and wearing his clothes.”

They watch the sea for a few minutes more; then, as the stars begin to appear, Otabek asks, “Want to head back?”

Yuri does not really want to go back. It’s nice, just being out here with—apparently—a friend. But it _is_ getting uncomfortably cold. “Sure,” he agrees.

Back at the hotel, Otabek parks his bike and they enter the lobby. At the elevator, Otabek says, “We’re on different floors, right? You can give the jacket back later if you want.”

They’ll go back to their own rooms, and all this will be over, and who knows when it’ll happen again. “Do you want to come see my room?” Yuri bursts out.

Otabek raises his eyebrows.

Yuri’s face goes hot. “Not like _that_. Just—I wanted—never mind.” He slaps the “UP” button and stares furiously at the elevator doors, willing them to open so he can escape.

“I didn’t think—that,” Otabek says. “I was just surprised. I would love to see your room.”

“Oh,” Yuri says. “Fine.”

There’s not much _to_ see in Yuri’s room, and this was a dumb idea, and Otabek is perched awkwardly on a boring hotel desk chair while Yuri curses his own minimalist tendencies and racks his brain for _anything_ interesting to say. He’s too warm in the jacket suddenly and pulls it off. “Here,” he says, pushing it at Otabek. “Thanks again for letting me borrow it.”

“No problem.” Otabek twists the jacket in his hands, concentrating on it. He must be bored to tears. Yuri would be.

This friendship thing was a bad idea, and Yuri is an idiot. They have nothing in common—nothing to talk about.

“What are you thinking about now?” Otabek asks.

“Nothing,” Yuri answers, too quickly.

A tiny smile crosses Otabek’s lips. “You know, it’s normal for friends to just _be_ sometimes. Silence is okay. You don’t have to entertain each other a hundred percent of the time—”

“That’s not what—”

“—So if you’re worried that you’re not interesting because you’re not talking, just know that you are wrong.” Otabek gets up and comes over to Yuri, and he wraps one hand around the back of Yuri’s head, lightly stroking the hair at the nape of Yuri’s neck. “If anyone ever tells you that you’re boring, be sure to kick them in the kneecaps.”

Yuri jerks his head away; his neck is burning. “I _wasn’t_ worrying.”

“Okay,” Otabek says. “I’m glad you weren’t.” He sits down again, this time on the corner of the bed. “Want to watch TV?”

Neither of them speak Spanish, but they find a weird game show that for some reason involves a lot of running _and_ a lot of dancing, and they make a pile of couch cushions and throw pillows on the bed from which to watch. Yuri’s favorite contestant scores twice as many points as Otabek’s, so Otabek has to pay when they order room service. Yuri also insults Otabek’s choice of contestant with many colorful Russian insults, so Otabek hits him with a pillow and that becomes an all-out war. Which Otabek wins by sitting on Yuri’s legs and pinning his wrists.

“Next time use a language I _don’t_ know. Maybe get Katsuki to teach you some Japanese.”

“I’m not asking that twit for fuck-all,” Yuri growls, struggling uselessly.

“He’s not a twit. He’s nice. Give in already and I’ll let you up.”

Yuri sighs heavily. “Fine. I give. Next time you’re going down.”

“Okay,” Otabek says, climbing off and rolling onto his back. “Whatever you say.”

The game show is over and some kind of ocean documentary has begun, full of soothing music and undersea scenes. Yuri closes his eyes, just for a moment, relaxing into the peaceful sounds.

He startles awake some hours later. The TV is off and Otabek is snoring gently beside him. There’s a blanket over Yuri that wasn’t there before, Otabek having apparently tucked him in. Yuri hadn’t really meant for this to happen. Should he wake Otabek and send him back to his own room? He looks so comfortable. So just let him be, Yuri decides, nestling back into the pillows. It’s not long until dawn anyway.

Yuri watches the rise and fall of Otabek’s chest, notices the fine stubble that has appeared on his jawline, examines the long dark eyelashes framing gentle brown eyes, which are… open. Shit.

“Watching me sleep?” Otabek asks.

“No, I—” Yuri falters, unable to think of a good explanation.

Otabek yawns. “You don’t have to make excuses. I don’t mind.”

“Well, I wasn’t.” Yuri rolls away. “You probably want to get back to your room now. Right?” he says to the wall.

“If you want,” Otabek says. “But if you’re awake for the day, we could go get coffee.”

Yes, Yuri wants coffee. And no, he doesn’t want Otabek to leave yet, but it doesn’t make sense that _Otabek_ wants to stay. “Okay,” Yuri says slowly. “I could do coffee.”

The sun has barely crept above the horizon, and the city is filled with the clean, damp smell of an overnight rain. They wander through the surrounding district, in no hurry, until they come upon a tiny coffeehouse tucked between a clothing store and a pharmacy. Inside, they smile at the barista and stare at the menu until familiar words jump out: _capucchino_ for Yuri and _té negro_ for Otabek. “ _Por favor_ ,” Yuri says to the barista, using up all the Spanish he knows. Thank goodness so much of the language of coffee is global.

They sit on tall chairs at a little table by the window. Otabek sips his tea and watches small birds pecking in the street outside, and Yuri watches Otabek. Suddenly Otabek turns and catches him at it.

“Is there something on my face?” Otabek asks. “Because you’re staring again.”

Yuri drops his eyes, focusing on his cappuccino. “Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize. I was just wondering why.”

“I don’t know, okay? Is that all right with you?” Yuri snaps.

“It’s perfectly fine.” Otabek appears unfazed by Yuri’s outburst.

Yuri stares into his mug. There is no reason he can give that won’t ruin everything. He can’t say that Otabek is so cool, Yuri wants to go anywhere he’s going. He can’t say that Otabek’s hands are fascinating. He can’t say what he’s thought about for a split second before shoving it out of his mind, because it cannot and will not ever happen. He should have sent Otabek away this morning. Spending twelve hours straight with one person has fucked with Yuri’s mind.

They leave the coffeehouse in uncomfortable silence. The city is still quiet, although the sun has fully risen now. On a whim, Yuri makes a sharp turn to enter a park. Otabek follows.

There’s no one else here, and soon the trees have folded them into a green and magical realm right out of a fairytale. A light rain begins, pattering through the leaves above them. They find a low wooden bench and sit together, still having not said a word since the coffeehouse.

Then, “Why are you here?” Yuri asks.

Otabek frowns. “In Barcelona?”

“I mean _here_. Following me around, sleeping in my room. What are you doing?”

“I like hanging out with you. But if you want to be alone, I can—”

“No, I—you can stay. I like… that you’re here.” 

“Yuri.” Otabek’s eyes have gone serious. “What’s bothering you? You can tell me, really. Just talk to me.”

“I just—you—” Yuri violently wipes rain off his face. There isn’t a way to _say_ it. Overcome, he leans toward Otabek, closer, closer, until only inches separate them, and is this insane courage enough? Can he really do it?—There’s the barest brush of lips and—

Otabek leans back. “ _Oh_.”

“Fuck,” Yuri says quietly, and buries his face in his hands. Well, he’s blown it now. That’s what he gets for letting his self-control slip like that.

Otabek touches his shoulder. “Yuri, can you look at me?”

Yuri refuses to move, refuses to show his face. He feels split open, all his guts on display, and none of this would have happened if he hadn’t tried to make one stupid fucking friend. He _knew_ better. Maybe if he stays quiet, Otabek will leave and Yuri can recover a few shreds of his dignity.

Otabek sighs. “Okay, it’s fine if you can’t look at me. Listen, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I already know,” Yuri grits out, “that I am about to get the ‘you’re eighteen and I’m fifteen and you don’t feel the same’ speech, so could we just fast-forward to the part where you never talk to me again?”

“Well, you got half the speech right.” Otabek smiles wryly.

Yuri looks up finally, staring at Otabek. “What?”

“I’m going to keep competing. We will continue seeing each other and, I hope, getting to be good friends. And if you still feel like that in a few years, you can let me know.”

“Yeah, okay,” Yuri says. He still feels like he might burn up from embarassment, but apparently things are not totally fucked after all. “Don’t start holding a grudge when I keep beating you.”

“I would never.” Otabek gets up and extends a hand to Yuri, who takes it and stands. Otabek holds on slightly longer than necessary. “Still think kissing makes you an idiot and ruins your life?”

“I didn’t actually kiss you. This proves nothing.” Yuri turns on his heel and stalks down the path the way they came, but he’s smiling into the collar of his hoodie. There’s just no way he’s letting Otabek see it.

**Author's Note:**

> I made up the game show, so don’t go looking for it. :p I did not make up the beach [http://www.catalonia-valencia.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/04/Sant-Feliu-de-Guixols-Beach-Costa-Brava.jpg], although it’s actually located an hour north of Barcelona. It was truly terrible having to research Barcelona beaches. Just awful. I’m so horrifically relaxed now. Gotta brush up on my Spanish and go visit Spain, dang.
> 
> Also, I’ve been writing fanfic since 2003 and not once have I written a romance story without even one single real kiss in it. ????????


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